Chiaroscuro
by TiamatV
Summary: #1: Inquiry -SE/S- #2: Culpability -SE/S- #3: First -BH/CG- #4: Vocal -SE/S- #5: Okaeri -gen, humor- #6: Courage -SE/S- #7: Phonetic -gen-
1. Inquiry

So... drabbles! -laugh- I've written a few of these, and I think they're kind of fun. Plus they're a nice mental exercise for me, so I can get away from the longer stories. This is just the first one; there'll be more, as soon as I've gotten them cleaned up for posting.

Many of the ones I've already written are SE/Scarlett (not a surprise, I imagine) but some are gen. I do hope you enjoy!

I'm also happy to take requests, though I can make no promises; if I do decide to take them and write them, they'll be anywhere from a few hundred to a thousand words, typically. If you do have a request, please leave your name and number at the tone... okay, no, not really. -laugh- What I ask for in requests are: characters you want to see, and a one-liner. It can be an idea, a situation, or even something really random, like a word... surprise me!

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Drabble #1: Chousa (Inquiry)

Summary: Scarlett's used to impertinent questions, but some of them take the cake... (SE/Scarlett)

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Some well-meaning newbie asked her, once, why she hadn't thrown over Snake-Eyes for someone prettier… Duke, say. He'd been teasing… somewhat. More curious than anything. She couldn't totally blame the greenshirts for their inquiries—after all, they almost always prefaced it with, "May I ask you a personal question, Scarlett?"

She could always tell it was going to be _that_ sort of question when they called her "Scarlett" rather than "Sergeant."

Was it stupid that she'd said yes? Scarlett didn't particularly think so… especially since she knew perfectly well that if she didn't answer, someone else would be perfectly happy to answer for her. Frat regs were hammered into all of their heads from day one of boot camp, after all, so it was no surprise that the greenshirts always looked faintly, well, green whenever anyone saw her and Snake Eyes holding hands. They didn't do it that often, but they did do it… and she thought that sometimes, Snakes only twined his fingers with hers to see these hard-bodied, cold-eyed, best-of-the-best military boys with their eyes bugging out.

Her relationship with Snake-Eyes was really the single worst-kept secret that the Joes had. And despite her well-meaning teammates, Scarlett suspected that it was probably fraught with as much misinformation as an intentional Cobra leak.

"After all," the greenshirt had continued, his brows tight with puzzlement, "You're so _beautiful_, Scarlett, ma'am. I mean… what did Snake-Eyes look like before… you know?"

"What do you mean 'you know?' _Do_ you know?" she asked, curiously, finding herself more amused than frankly offended. It wasn't often she got to watch someone cheerfully and earnestly firing off the twenty-one-gun salute for their own funeral.

The greenshirt did the next best thing to fidgeting under her stare. "Well… no, but the… accident, or whatever it was, was really bad, wasn't it? I hear the scarring and the burns were pretty awful, and… they say you've got to be pretty tough, to stick by him when you've got to face… uh… um."

Much to their obvious puzzlement, Scarlett started to laugh. She'd been flattered enough that she'd only felt the need to pound him _halfway_ into the mats during hand-to-hand training that afternoon. He probably wouldn't be able to eat for a few days, though—being kneed in the pancreas did that, she'd heard.

Flattered by him calling her beautiful… yes. But she really didn't think that frank ignorance really deserved a reward.

Snake-Eyes hadn't been a particularly handsome man, Scarlett remembered that—distantly, like the moment of awakening, but like all dreams, it faded against the sharper edges of reality. Oh, she'd been attracted to him, but it had never really been for how he looked. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that he'd ever looked differently than he did at all. Sometimes, all she remembered was sensation—the rasp of five o'clock shadow when she ran her fingers down his cheek, or the way his hair had felt when she'd buried her fingers in it. Or the feel of his lips brushing hers, so soft, so very, very soft, without coarse scarring.

He'd had a nice face, yes, but unremarkably so, without quirk or scar or bumpy nose to show for his military tours. He'd been straight-backed and blond, his hair just slightly longer than regulations demanded, with a razor's cheekbones and a body to die for. He'd had the tan of a man who spent most of his time in the sun, and the tan lines to show that he did it for work, not pleasure. He'd had an incongrous dimple when he smiled, but that smile was as rare as a morpho butterfly. He'd had a downturned mouth, a divet in his chin, and eyes that were so utterly, utterly lonely.

Handsome? Nice-looking. Unremarkable, mostly. That was one thing that he'd had, though: such beautiful, beautiful eyes, sky-blue, shading down to darkness at the center, like the point where dusk hit the ocean. It was the one beauty he'd kept.

Scarlett smiled to herself as Snake Eyes came to pick her up at the training room. When he glanced at the trainee lying curled in a fetal position on the sparring mats, and raised a questioning eyebrow behind his mask, she just shrugged.

He shook his head, and his shoulders dipped in an exaggerated sigh... but she could see from the crinkle of his eyes—he was smiling ruefully, and when he touched her face, it was lightly, and with pride. _[You really have to stop doing that,]_ he signed.

"Oh, please. He'll be fine. It could have been so much worse," she pointed out.

_[How?]_

She smirked. "He could have asked _you_."

After a long moment, he gave up on trying not to chuckle, his shoulders shaking, just briefly. He didn't take her hand--not this time--but she felt his fingertips resting gently on the small of her back as he led her out the door.

Scarlett felt her grin widen when he didn't contradict her.

Yes, she'd known that nice, unremarkable face for a few months—liked it, liked the steady, quiet man behind it.

But this scarred, awful face, and the silent man who wore it… she'd known and loved him for much, much longer.

~fin~  
April 29, 2009


	2. Culpability

This one's actually drabble-length! Well... sort of, anyway. The Joes are, by the way, still not mine. And yes, I will try very hard to make the next drabble NOT be SE/Scarlett, really, I will...

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Drabble #2: Yuuzai (Culpability)

Summary: Sometimes, guilt is more complex than just taking the blame...

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Scarlett wondered if she would ever quite get used to the sharp tightening in her gut whenever Snakes stripped off his mask.

Ironically, it wasn't because he was ugly, scarred—though he was. The pain was… rolling, up and down, like a sand dune. A little nauseating, and it took a few deep breaths before it subsided. But it wasn't because of how he looked.

God, she hated that this had happened because of her—because of stupid things like sand filters and caught webbing. Because of bad luck. She'd blamed herself in the beginning, but only for awhile. Truthfully, they'd been tiptoeing tentatively towards more, but they hadn't known much more about each other than simple things. Birthplace, siblings. Military tours. Things they'd found, and things they'd lost. Not strangers, but not lovers. Not yet.

But now... now, she knew that he'd have done what he did for anyone, any member of his team. She was fortunate enough to know the mettle of the man underneath the black battle uniform and visored mask, knew just how fine and bright he'd been forged.

Would she have known that without the fire that had taken his voice and his face? Without the events that had followed? Would she have ever known just how deeply his devotion to his teammates, to his cause, and to her went, if he hadn't stayed on the mission, despite his terrible injuries? Would she have understood just how deeply his trust in her went, that she was basically the only person he let see him unmasked?

Maybe—voice or not, visor or not, Snake-Eyes was the same man he'd been before. She truly did believe that. She'd liked him then—loved him now. If none of this had happened, perhaps she'd have learned these facets of him all the same—not as showy, but just as real, like a beautifully beveled hand-mirror rather than the iridescent, unmistakable flash-and-fire of a diamond.

But would she have known to look for them?

Ultimately Scarlett just didn't _know._

It was hard not to hate herself, a little, for thinking that anything good could come of something so horrible. Something that had hurt him so badly.

So when she touched him, put a hand on his shoulder or carefully cradled his cheeks in her callused hands, she reminded herself: she would have been lucky to have him, no matter when it was. Even the way he'd been before the accident—even if the accident had never happened. She'd have been lucky no matter what.

She didn't tell anyone that sometimes, she thought this. No-one would have believed her, or even understood.

Snake-Eyes no longer pulled away when she ran her fingertips down the grisly spiderweb of burn scars of his cheeks, the thicker, purplish lines of keloid, but he did close his eyes. He'd had long eyelashes, before, she remembered—incongruously long, with white tips. They'd gone the way of the fire.

Strangely, if anything, him closing his eyes made the scarring appear more grotesque, without the aquarian blue of his eyes and the steady personality behind them.

"What does it feel like, when I touch your face?" she asked him, softly, in the stingy half-darkness of the library. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, and she smiled, absently—he still had a small dimple in his left cheek.

His eyes came half-open, and he shook his head, his lips brushing her fingertips. Her hand tingled as he tilted his head, kissed her wrist. He reached out for the pad of paper that they kept lying between them, between the books they were both pretending to read. [_I don't mind it._] They were both learning sign language, but when they were sitting together, they often just passed a pad of paper back and forth. She thought it was oddly endearing that his pointy scrawl was always exactly between the lines, and was as regular as anything a typewriter ever produced.

But that was a strange thing to say. She raised an eyebrow, and poked his shoulder gently, before cradling his cheek in a hand so she could make him face her. Scar tissue, she'd found, felt strangely smooth against her skin. "You know, I _am _in Intelligence—I _can _tell when someone's avoiding the question."

Snake-Eyes flashed her a half-smile, before he sobered. One shoulder moved in the barest touch of a shrug. _[It feels… odd. Numb. Mostly numb,_] he wrote.

Scarlett blinked at him. He'd never said—but she knew she'd never asked. "Bad?"

His hand hesitated on the pen for long enough that she knew he'd be lying if he said it was all right. Finally, he wrote, in his neat handwriting, _[Not… good.]_

On the one hand, she appreciated his honesty. But when she tried to yank her hand back, he caught at her wrist, and shook his head. _[I don't mind,_] he wrote, again. This time, he underlined it.

Scarlett blinked, and tried to tug her hand away. For all that he was an amazing, complex man… he really confused her so much sometimes. "Snake-Eyes," she chided, softly. "How can _I_ not mind, if it hurts? I don't want to hurt you. Why would I?"

He just shook his head again, and, finally, after a moment, let her fingers fall away. She didn't lift her hand again, and was more confused than ever when, after a long moment, he simply sighed a little and turned away.

In the end, it took her years to understand—it did hurt, at least in the beginning, when she touched him.

But it hurt him more to have her not.

~fin~  
May 16, 2009


	3. First

Drabble #3... and as promised, NOT SE/Scarlett. I know, it's shocking, isn't it? -giggle- But I hope you'll enjoy your read anyway. And, well, this story's actually rated either T or M, depending on your point of view.

Just so you're forewarned, this story is entirely done in dialogue. Beach calling Cover Girl Cinderella and Barbie doll comes from other fanfic, because I'm pretty sure they never had much interaction in the comics, and I really don't remember what kind of interaction they had in the TV series...

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Saisho (First)

Summary: Everyone's got a first-time story, but some people have got more interesting ones than others...

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"So… tell me about your first time."

"Hah! Wait 'til I tell the guys. Get a couple of snifters of the good stuff into Master Sergeant Wayne Sneeden, and he actually starts caring about people's personal lives!"

"You gonna answer the question or what, Cover Girl? And _what_ are you doing?"

"Just checking to make sure you're still you."

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean? What are you—ah. Hey."

"You know, your voice just got real soft all of a sudden, right there. You _sure_ you're Beach Head?"

"What the fuck—are you _sniffing _me?"

"Mmm. Like I said. Checking that you're not a… I dunno, a clone or something. Because for one thing, you smell really good."

"_Huh?_ Barbie doll, get your face the Hell away from me."

"Buuuuut you're still a grouch. Heh. And here I thought I was going to have to call the thought police. For that, I'm having another shot. Mmmm… whooo, this is _really_ tasty. Where'd it come from, again?"

"My sister sends me a bottle for my birthday every year. And _you_ get to pay for that shot with the story."

"For bourbon that smooth… sure. You're getting gypped, though. Not much to tell, really. It was… like everyone's first time, I guess? Good things and bad things, things that could have gone better… but, in retrospect, it could have gone _so_ much worse."

"I guess? How old were you?"

"Fifteen, thereabouts, I guess."

"_Fifteen?_"

"Yeah… I guess I was a little young. Some people are younger, though, aren't they? How old were you?"

"Not the point, and we are _not_ going there right now. Goddamn it, Cinderella. If I ever get my hands on the bastard dung-eating maggot who took advantage of you…"

"Oh, _Beach_. He wasn't that much older than I was. He had just the _sweetest_ ride: a vintage '67 Corvette, fully restored. Jet black, looked like it could outrun a BMW without even moving. His parents got it for him for his eighteenth birthday."

"_Eighteenth_—"

"Well, yeah. Like I said, a little older. I knew him 'cause he was a friend of my brother's. They played sports together, and he was over at my house a lot. And he thought I was cute. He was a nice guy, though. Even if he was a rich kid. Um… Wayne?"

"What."

"You're going to crack a molar if you keep grinding your teeth that way, and I don't think dental's covered in our health plan. Look, you asked."

"Yeah."

"If you don't want to hear it, I really don't care, that's fine with me."

"I'm… fine. I'm cool. No problem."

"Uh… ri-ight. That was definitely more than a shot you just took. That was like… a swig on steroids."

"You gonna hassle me about one drink, or you gonna talk?"

"Most people say 'please,' you know."

"_Cover Girl_…"

"And what makes you think he took advantage of me? Really, I feel more like I took advantage of _him_. I mean… it was all my idea."

"Wha—dollface, you did _not _just say… _What?_"

"Hah. Wow. Go me. I've actually managed to shock Beach Head silent."

"Krieger, what were you _thinking?_"

"Don't bark in my ear. We're having a nice drink, not doing PT. Look, I was young. I was thinking he seemed… playful, like the kind of guy who would be up for a little… you know, good old-fashioned fun. And he had a _really_ nice car."

"Good… old-fashioned… and basically 'cause you've got a hard-on for his goddamned _Corvette_? Ah, _fuck_. I've got a headache."

"I did _not _have a hard-on for his car."

"Sure sounds like it."

"_Nooooooo_ hard-on. Female, remember?"

"Oh, fuck, yes, I remember, all right."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothin'. No-thing."

"If I'd known you were going to make such a big deal of it, I wouldn't have told you."

"You've started, might as well finish."

"Are you going to be a bastard about it?"

"No."

"Beach, I don't believe you. You're always a bastard."

"I'm gonna let that one slide, but you're gonna be screaming for mercy come the next time you have PT with me, Corporal Krieger. Finish the goddamned story."

"Well, we started out on this little private side road, right? No-one there, no cops or anything. _I_ thought I was doing pretty well, all things considered, my first time and all. Sure, I was a little clumsy at first, but he didn't seem too worried. And it was fun, but… I dunno, it just wasn't _enough._"

"Not… enou… okay. Okay. Yeah. Go on."

"You've got this really big blood vessel pulsing in your temple. I've never seen that before. Uh… okay, you don't have to glare like that. So I figured, hey, why not, maybe with a little convincing, maybe we can get a little motion going… if you know what I mean?"

"…motion?"

"Yeah. You know, it was pretty early in the day, before all the rush hour stuff started. Or maybe it was a weekend… yeah, you know, now that I think about it, it _was _a weekend. So I figured we could get some, like… highway kind of action. A car like that, it's made for really _moving_, not just sneaking around in a little alleyway."

"You. Went out. On the highway."

"Sure. Took some convincing, but in the end, he just couldn't say no. Almost crashed the car, but oh, man, _so_ worth it! It was… wow. What a rush—it went from 'okay, a little weird' to 'amazing.' I swear, I fell in love right then."

"Goddamn it, you little Barbie-headed idiot, you coulda been _killed! _What the bleedin' Hell were you doin', fuckin' around on the highway?! And without a seat belt on?! Hell, it's a miracle that pretty little head of yours didn't go flyin' through the windshield!"

"Your accent's gotten _really _strong, you know that? Of course I was wearing a seat belt. What kind of moron do you think I am?!"

"What?! How the Hell were you wearing a seat belt?!"

"The _normal_ way! How else do people wear seat belts? You know, you sit down, you take the little metal thing, you pull it across, you plug it in the other side…"

"Look, wiseass—"

"Just because it was my first time behind the wheel didn't mean I knew _nothing_!

"What?!"

"Goddamn, I should _hit_ you for being so shocked. You think I'd take out someone's 'Vette without knowing a little something about driving? I'm probably the _only_ first-timer you'll ever meet who didn't stall a manual transmission! Why? 'Cause I _knew what I was doing_, and I'm sure you'd realise that if you ever yanked that _surgically implanted_ _stick out of your_—"

"Wait. Wait. Courtney, goddamn it, slow it down. What…you were… talking about your first time _driving_?"

"Yeah, duh! Why? What the Hell did you think I was talking about—Wayne? What's going--mmph?! Ah… _mmmm_."

"Ah."

"Mmhmm. _Mmmmm_."

"Oh. Ah. Fuckin' _blazes_."

"Beach… did you just…"

"S'nothing. Just… s'nothing."

"Oh. Wow. Wayne."

"Cover Girl..."

"Don't you even _start _with my code name. You… kissed me. That's not…"

"Uh… I… ah, _fuck_, give me that bourbon, Courtney."

~fin~

Start: May 18, 2009  
End: May 23, 2009

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Hey, what can I say: my first experience (driving) was disastrous, and many, many years ago, but not everyone's has to be right? -chuckle-

What? You knew that twist was coming... didn't you? ^_~ I was contemplating leaving out the kiss at the end, but you couldn't possibly expect me to have NO romance in a story, could you?


	4. Vocal

This is a drabble I wrote awhile ago; for some reason, I just can't get it tweaked to my heart's content. I'm hoping that if I post it, it'll stop bothering me to fix it... (And yes, I realize that my drabbles are out of hand and are starting to break two thousand words... while I'm sure this thing is long enough to post on its own, heck, I'd be embarrassed to!)

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Drabble #4: Yuusei (Vocal)

Summary: He's used to being mute. Mostly, anyway.

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Truthfully, after all these years, Snake-Eyes really didn't miss his voice anymore.

He'd always been quiet—he was just quieter, now. There weren't many people he cared to talk to. Admittedly, it was frustrating, sometimes, on the field—getting a message across when his hands were full of knives, swords, and an Uzi was a chore. But so was yelling across a battlefield with his throat hoarse with smoke, his ears ringing with gunfire and the knowledge that his teammates' lips were moving, but he had _no idea_ what they were saying. It hadn't been so long that he didn't remember exactly what _that_ had been like. At least, now, people didn't expect him to be intelligible.

Pleasantly, surprisingly, though, being voiceless didn't get in his way as often as he'd thought it would. Most of the core team he worked with had gotten very good at sign language, for one thing, so communication lines weren't much more tangled with him than with any other Joe. He'd never aspired to a position of command, so shouting orders on the battlefield wasn't something he'd ever had to do.

The field gave them all handicaps of some sort or another—voices choked with smoke, shoulders or legs or sides useless with wounding, eyes running and bleary with tear gas. The only difference was that his own problem was familiar to him, an old ghost.

Besides, he compensated. He had the advantage of working by himself, most of the time… and when he wasn't, it surprised him just how often he found himself with people who understood what he needed to get across, whether or not he actually signed for them.

And as for using the phone… well, they all knew Morse Code.

In a lot of ways, Snake-Eyes was well aware of just how fortunate he'd been; he'd almost made the decision to not stay with the Joes after it became clear his voice was gone for good. Resigning his commission, leaving the team on full disability… in retrospect, it would have killed him, slowly, dishonorably. Like a betrayal.

He'd thought he'd be a liability. He didn't think that anymore.

And if his superiors had had initial misgivings about having a mute commando infantryman on the service… he hadn't given them reason to keep having them.

It still struck him as amusing and ironic that he'd somehow ended up one of the heads of a small ninja force, though. One of whom had taken a vow of silence. He really wondered, sometimes, whether his early arguments with Scarlett had sounded anything like when Jinx and T'jbang were disagreeing about something. One female voice, yelling—and the laborious scritch of pen on notepad.

Yes, he remembered what _that_ had been like, too.

Luckily, even though there were hotheads amongst the Ninja Force… it was easy enough to toss someone across the room if they were getting severely out of hand. And a little refreshing to know that with their training, he could actually do that without hurting them.

But in general, the ninjas didn't require yelling at, either, and when they did, Storm-Shadow was particularly talented with a _very_ acerbic word or two. Tommy was chatty--true. Actually, Tommy probably talked enough for the both of them, and he always had. Snake-Eyes was never sure whether to be impressed or appalled, though, at how Thomas Arashikage didn't even need to raise his voice to verbally cut someone down at the knees. Very subtle, very smart, and just a little cruel. It was something that he was all-too-sure his sword-brother had learned at the hands of Cobra.

But he never mentioned it.

It worked for Tommy. But it wasn't really his style, as Scarlett might have put it. Using his words as weapons wasn't something Snake-Eyes had ever been very good at anyway.

He'd been mute more than a decade. In fact, he'd all-but-forgotten what his own voice had once sounded like.

But somehow, whenever he saw Duke leaning over Scarlett, their first sergeant's big hand with its school ring pressed against the wall behind her as they conversed, her face alight with laughter… Snake-Eyes suddenly, desperately, desperately wished that he could curse. Loudly. Foully enough to turn the air green.

But the very idea of walking up to Duke and signing, "Get your goddamned baby-blue eyeballs the fuck out of my girlfriend's cleavage," made him wince. There were definite limitation to the fact that there was no volume control on sign language—unless he wanted to punctuate it with a fist to a body part.

Tempting. Very, very tempting.

But, of course, he couldn't. Not least because he'd never truly seen the point of learning how to swear in sign language—the only real exception was "Bullshit," and only because Scarlett had taught it to _him_. Not because she intended him to use it, but mostly because she'd thought the sign looked funny… which it did. Besides, he'd never sworn much even when he _could_ talk… and there was something just incredibly pathetic about the idea of cursing with his hands.

It wasn't that he didn't believe in her. Scarlett was sociable, and fun, and she made friends the way some people made paper cranes. She found Duke to be wonderful company, with his brash, bright humor and big flashing grin, and he couldn't blame her for that. Snake-Eyes had heard more than one story of malignant first shirts, but Duke was anything but. If he'd been Hawk, Duke would have been his choice for Top Sergeant as well: good in downtime, and even better on the field.

Honestly, he thought they were lucky: his girlfriend liked their Top as a friend and respected him as a field commander, and truthfully, he liked and respected Duke, too. Most of the time, anyway.

What Snake-Eyes _didn't _like was the way Duke looked back at _her._

He knew that look. _Every_ man with a beautiful, scintillating girlfriend knew that look: that slick, male appreciation, the hotter hint of lust. And attraction? Oh, yes. It often startled him that Scarlett, for all that she knew that she was beautiful, for all that she used her sensuality so often in the service of the Joes… seemed to have only minimal comprehension that her own teammates might sometimes get caught up in that subtle electricity that crackled and sizzled about her.

Fortunately, in most cases… the men weren't as subtle as Duke about showing their appreciation… and Scarlett definitely wasn't subtle in demonstrating—often with the heel of her right boot—that her relationship with Snake-Eyes was not open to interpretation.

She really wasn't flirting with Duke. Snake-Eyes knew that. She was just… herself, with that little tilt to the way she held her chin and the way her eyes flashed and her voice got that dangerous purr when someone got her into a debate she could really get her back into. He knew that purr very well—adored it, actually. Sometimes he thought it was the only reason he ever disagreed with her at all.

More dangerous still, though, was the little quirk of amused admiration in Duke's smile. Lust was one thing. Admiration… was more difficult.

There was a lot to admire about Shana O'Hara. Even more to love. It was too easy to fall from one into the other. Snake-Eyes knew that better than anyone.

Did he really think that their First Sergeant would do anything about whatever he felt for Scarlett?

No. G.I. Joes were unconventional by nature, but Duke was, above all, honorable. Straightforward. He might look. He might _want_. But he wouldn't try to take. He probably wouldn't even try to hit on her, which made him rather unusual amongst the Joe men.

Sometimes Snake-Eyes thought it was the only reason he let Duke live.

Did he think that there was any chance Scarlett was going to leave him for this square-jawed, All-American sergeant boy, with his apple-pie smile and uncomplicated eyes?

No. Trust had come slowly between them, but she'd more than earned his faith a hundred times—a thousand. And if, someday, she decided wanted to leave him… he didn't like to even think about the possibility, but he knew that if she did, it'd be his own fault, not anyone else's, and certainly not Duke's.

Did watching their Top charming the woman Snake-Eyes loved, looking at her with those hungry blue eyes, still make him furious enough that he wanted to grab Conrad "Duke" Hauser by the collar, shake him until his eyeballs rattled in his skull, and blast him with enough caustic language to make Beach Head's eyebrows twitch under his balaclava?

Hell, yes.

Snake-Eyes gritted his teeth, underneath his mask, and had to look down to consciously stop his feet from marching him into that hallway.

But it was just beyond irritating, the knowledge that he _could_ go in there and shake Duke's lights out… but he couldn't yell and shake someone at the same time. Well, he couldn't yell at all. He certainly couldn't _communicate_ while both his hands were wrapped around someone's neck.

For a brief, red-tinged moment, the very first time he'd seen Duke leaning over Scarlett and edging carefully into her personal space, he'd contemplated the fact that he _could_ sign with a sword held to someone's thick neck… but… okay, even in his angriest moments he was aware of just how much overkill that was.

He knew he was disciplined, or supposed to be. A master of mental and physical control. In fact, he knew he was stronger than this, too, stronger than jealousy. If he walked away, he wouldn't forget about it… but he could ground himself, push this unreasonable, unseasonable energy away. There were… options for getting out his ire.

A fist across that perfect square jaw would almost certainly get his ire out just as effectively as a shouting match. Probably more so… considering that Snake-Eyes knew, without vanity, just how hard he could hit.

It would certainly get the message out. Probably a tooth or two, as well.

For a moment, it was so utterly appealing. It would just be so cathartic… and Duke would forgive him. Eventually. Maybe. _Scarlett_… well.

But it was probably one of the most selfish ideas he'd had in years.

Besides, it would get him into a _lot_ more trouble than a simple cuss word.

He turned a quick about-face and stalked off in the opposite direction, wondering absently if there was steam coming out of his ears.

Failing the ability to scream, swear, or deck his mission leader… Snake-Eyes really, _really_ hoped Storm Shadow was up for some sparring tonight.

~fin~  
May 16, 2009

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I am currently a grumbling fanfiction writer. Hrmph. I really need some new SE/Scarlett inspiration...


	5. Okaeri

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This is silly, completely crack. I make plenty of apologies to Japanese culture for massive misappropriation, and Storm Shadow's grumpiness.

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**Okaeri (Welcome Home!)**

Summary: There's nothing like coming home again... especially if it involves schoolgirls.

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"_Tee-hee!"_

"_Oh, he is yummy! Isn't he? But look at his arms!"_

"_I like the blond one! But I think he's American. You're right, the other one… oh, look, he's turning. Oh, he's __handsome__!"_

"_Tee-HEE! See? See why I called you? Didn't I say so?"_

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. He was Tommy Arashikage. He was the scion of an ancient ninja clan. He was a college graduate. He'd been through Army Basic, two tours in the rain-drenched Hell of Southeast Asia, and every form of torture that his uncles could think of calling 'training.'

And he was remembering just why he'd spent so long staying in the USA, because this was more painful than any of the above. Why had he thought that showing Snake-Eyes through the different districts of Tokyo would be a good thing? A cultural experience, he'd thought, for his American friend whose experience overseas was all with wars? It wasn't spring or autumn, with the _sakura _festivals or maple leaves, but Tokyo was a sight, even in summer.

He'd forgotten that Harajuku came with its own scenery, and it wasn't nearly as peaceful as cherry blossoms.

"Tommy," Snake-Eyes' voice was low, and calm, a soft rumble as they walked. Thank the gods his friend knew to keep his voice down—even though he was speaking in English. "Why are those girls dressed like dolls?"

_Yes. Exactly. Why, indeed. _One word: schoolgirls. Specifically, Japanese schoolgirls. The Lolita style that was currently in fashion was simply the capstone on what he already knew was a very bizarre culture. He'd only had to see one _Gothic_ Lolita to know that there was no way he could ever live in Tokyo.

"It's… a cultural thing," he muttered, under his breath.

"They have parasols. And I think they're wearing _petticoats._"

"I know." Tommy had a brief moment of wondering how Snake-Eyes knew what a petticoat was. "They do that."

"They're… fifteen, or something_, _Tommy. Do their parents know they go out dressed like that?"

Yes, it would figure that that would be what would disturb Snake-Eyes the most. "They're really not fifteen," he replied, dryly.

His friend blinked at him, very, very slowly. Well, it was nice that he wasn't the only one who was confused about urban Japanese culture. "They look it. How old are they?"

"I don't know." He dared a quick glance at them—but it wasn't quick enough. The middle one—the one in purple ruffles—met his eyes. Her stupendously long black eyelashes—long and thick enough to brush her cheeks when she blinked—flapped at him… then started waving hard enough to start a breeze as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Then she flipped open her fan and hid her lips behind it. He looked away. "Probably nineteen, twenty. Or older."

"_Twent—_they are not."

"If not, then nearly that; they're college girls, for sure." But he wasn't going to look back and check again. The one with the yellow hoop skirts had looked very hungry. "People look younger, here. Stop looking at them, brother, you'll just encourage them."

Snake-Eyes was a sensible enough fellow, and he knew to keep his mouth shut; Tommy'd always liked that about him. He was quiet as they walked down the Harajuku streets, his eyes flicking, watchful. And he followed Tommy's lead when they moved, together, quietly, out of sight around a corner.

This was probably not an acceptable use of ninja training. Right now, Tommy didn't much care.

But Snake-Eyes turned his head, just the slightest, to glance over his shoulder—very subtle, disguised in the motion as they slipped out of the way. The side of his mouth quirked, again, in that almost invisible smile.

Tommy debated not saying anything as they walked. Then, finally, after a few more moments of silence, he asked, "What?"

Snake-Eyes moved one shoulder. "I think you've got a… what's it called. A fan club."

_And_ he was being mocked by an apple-pie hayseed boy from back-country America, whose Japanese was currently limited to asking for tea in a terrible accent? Tommy growled. "How do you know they weren't watching _you_?"

But Snake-Eyes had always been observant all out of proportion with how quiet he was, and his expression was knowing. "Because they weren't looking at me," he said, simply.

Unfortunately, that was probably true. Especially since the last thing he'd heard before they'd rounded the corner had been someone gabbling into her phone, "_Nee, nee, Eriko, you have to come, you have to come, I think he's a movie star! He looks __just__ like Kazuki Katou… but better! He has the sexiest body!"_

Snake-Eyes was good-looking enough, Tommy supposed. But, unfortunately, no-one was likely to compare _him_—tall, blond, square-jawed and blue-eyed, with the build of a career military man—to a J-pop star. Or whoever Kazuki Kato was.

Tommy sighed. Part of it was that he was definitely Japanese—no-one eyed _him_ in that mesmerized, rat-looking-at-snake way that they looked at Snake-Eyes, with his intense blue eyes and his height. He just didn't understand it, though. Most of the Japanese men he saw who were dressed in what passed for fashion around here were thin enough that Snake probably weighed as much as any two of them. He just didn't understand how that translated into, every time he passed a gaggle of girls, them commenting to each other about his _muscles!_

And they probably thought that because he was hanging around with a white man, he was deaf. Or a _nisei_, a second-generation Japanese-American, who didn't speak the language.

On the other hand, he had blessings to count: this would be so much worse if Snake actually understood Japanese. Even though 'sekushii bodii' had sounded far too close to the actual meaning for Tommy's comfort.

Still, they'd lost them. Or…

Then he heard it again.

"_See, that's what happens when you're texting, Mariko! He almost disappeared."_

"_It's okay, there he is! See? See?"_

"_Ohhhh!"_

"Ignore them," he finally commanded, when he noticed Snake-Eyes' eyes crinkling in a smile again.

"They're following us," Snake-Eyes replied.

Yes, he'd figured that one out for himself. Tommy stopped, finally massaged the bridge of his nose… and turned around. His uncles had always told him that it was far more important to spiritual development to face one's fears, after all. Even though Loligirls weren't just a fear for any sensible man, they were a _phobia_.

"_Urusai!_" he snarled, his voice lashing out sharply, loud even in the Harajuku streets. It wasn't _quite_ 'shut the hell up!' but… it was the closest he could get. Unfortunately, his education in Japanese had come with a lot of things that he was pretty sure were ancient terms in the language, and not a lot of curses. He didn't know _how_ to say 'shut the Hell up,' so 'Shut it!' would have to do.

There was a brief moment of silence. Five girls—five?! When had they multiplied?!—blinked at him through a thick mask of mascara and hats with little fluttery veils. It certainly didn't help that they seemed to have coordinated their clothing in the colours of the rainbow. The _pastel _rainbow. Tommy fixed them all with the same kind of glare he'd turned on the Abu Sayaaf in the Philippines—the one that had sent a half-squad of terrorists running.

"_Kaere!"_ he told them._ Go home!_

There was another moment of silence.

Then they giggled at him.

They _giggled_.

"_Oh, he speaks Japanese!"_

"_He speaks Japanese?! Really? Oh! Wow!"_

"_Oh, that's so cuuuute!"_

"_No, no, no…" _

"_Sexy__!"_ they said. In chorus. Much to his horror.

"…interesting. What are they saying?" Snake-Eyes asked. But when Tommy turned to glare at his friend, there was a very suspicious twitch to the corner of Snake-Eyes mouth.

Maybe Snake _did_ know more Japanese than he let on.

"Nothing," he sighed, and stalked forwards. That was it—tour was over, and they were getting back on the Yamanote line before he pulled the knife out of his boot and committed ritual _seppuku _out of sheer humiliation. "I really hate Japan, sometimes."

~fin~  
June 20, 2009

* * *

"Okaeri" is a Japanese set phrase; it doesn't literally mean 'welcome home,' but it's what one says when someone else arrives home. 'Seppuku' is one of the terms for ritual suicide. 'Urusai' means 'noisy,' but it is used as 'shut up!' or 'be quiet!' 'Kaere!' means exactly what Storm Shadow thought--"go home!" And yes, 'sekushii bodii' is a slang term for--you guessed it-- "sexy body."

Yes. Silly story. Very, very, very silly. I blame the lovely Author376, who is officially my muse's favorite source of crack. Obviously, this is set in that long-ago period before G.I. Joe, back when Snake-Eyes and Storm Shadow are living in Japan… as evidenced, I'm sure, by the fact that a) they're still on speaking terms, and b) Snake is still _speaking_.

I do know Japanese girls who act just this silly. Much to my chagrin. However, most of them actually only do it for famous people. –laugh- If you're curious about who Kazuki Kato is, well… here's a picture: just take out the spaces. http: // www. thai-toku. com/photo3/2449776037_dac5230dbd_o. jpg (Frankly, if Storm Shadow looked like that, I might follow him around, too.)

So, yes, I know that the Lolita fashion didn't start in Japan until about the nineties… which is why Tommy was fighting Abu Sayaaf rather than the Viet Cong. And I was tempted to write all of the girls' dialogue in actual Japanese, but that would have been a joke that only I would have gotten. –laugh-


	6. Courage

**Dokyou (Courage)**

Summary: He's never known just how to ask for what he wants.

* * *

One of Terri's favorite things to do had been tease him about women. Or, well, properly speaking, it'd been girls, but… Snake-Eyes smiled at the memory. Terri'd certainly thought herself a proper woman at the time. Or a proper matchmaker, anyway.

His twin sister had been popular; he'd always been quiet. It still totally eluded him, just exactly what she'd been using to convince her friends out on dates with him. They were nice enough girls—many of them quieter, just like he was; he was thankful that she'd never tried to set him up with any of the members of her cheerleading squad, even though—or maybe especially because—they'd cooed and primped at him whenever he went to a match or meet to cheer her on.

For that matter, though, Snake-Eyes still wasn't entirely sure how _she'd_ convinced _him_ out on dates with her friends. He'd privately decided that she must have had an enormous amount of blackmail on _them_, that they not only wanted to go out on dates with him, but that they wanted more than one… but what did that say about him, that he went along with it?

He'd asked her, once. She'd given him a sly, sidewards look out of her brown eyes, tossed her bob, and replied, "Well, if you haven't figured it out, I'm not going to tell you!"

Maybe she'd have been Intel, if she'd ever joined the military. Snake-Eyes chuckled to himself, softly. The memory of her still ached, even after all these years, that lost little piece of his soul—but in a way, it was a sore, sweet ache. Gentler, now. The pain never stopped, but... if he didn't smile when he remembered her, who would?

It'd never really worked out with any of the girls, of course—they went on a few dates. Sometimes a few more than a few. He'd had his own share of sweaty hand-holding in the movie theaters and kisses in the back seat of his parents' car. Sometimes—rarely—more than just kisses.

He knew many of the Joes would probably be shocked by the knowledge that he'd been a teenager once, too.

But his relationships had never lasted. He'd liked some of the girls better than others, of course, but... how was he supposed to give them what they wanted from him, when he didn't even know how to ask for what _he _wanted?

"That's because it takes _guts_ to fall head-over-heels in love, and even more guts to admit it to someone!" Terri had shaken her head, with her eyes rolled up as high as the sleeves on her button-down. It had been days before their high school graduation; he'd had his last date with... he didn't even remember her name anymore. He and the girl had parted ways; neither of them had looked back. "Look at you! Put a helmet and shinguards on you, and half the time your opponent's down before he even knows what hit him! Put you in front of a girl, and… and it's like you have no idea what just hit _you_!"

He'd chuckled, at that, softly. He'd spent four years medalling in taekwondo, but… the rules were simpler, in fights. "Kicking someone is easy, Terri."

Terri had rolled her eyes again—but finally, she'd laughed and thrown her arms around his neck. "What the heck is the army going to do with you, brother mine? You're handsome and smart and _spineless_!"

He was no longer handsome—if he'd ever been; he suspected that part of that had simply been twin-glasses, tinted rose. Smart had always been debatable: truthfully, her grades had always been better than his.

Spineless, though?

_Ah, Terri. Can you see me now, big sister?_

He was an Airborne Ranger, a vet of two hellish tours overseas, a career soldier his entire life. He was Snake-Eyes of Special Counterterrorist Force Delta. He was a founding member of G.I. Joe. He'd walked, driven, crawled, and been dropped into the worst warzones in the world without flinching. He'd trained with ninjas, and looked death in its white eyes and terrible smile.

He might debate the rest, but he wasn't spineless, no.

Scarlett touched his arm, gently. The calluses on her fingertips rasped against his commando uniform. "Hey. Deep thoughts there, pal?"

Snake-Eyes glanced over to her, and shook his head, shrugging. Watched the glint of gold in her green eyes spread when she smiled, just a little, with just the corners of them. Saw the saucy curve of lips that he'd never kissed. Realized, the way he always realized, that she was standing at his elbow, almost, but not quite, close enough for him to lean into her. She moved like a ninja—smooth, effortlessly silent, like a breath, or like pride. But she walked like a woman.

He hadn't heard her come into his quarters. But he'd felt the way her presence slid across his skin, the scent of her like a sizzle of distant lightning.

_[Is it raining outside?]_ he asked, looking at the tiny diamonds in her loose, long hair.

Scarlett laughed, that deep, rich, right caress of a laugh, and smoothed the light drizzle through her hair, burnishing it to a glistening sheen. "Fine, I get it, your thoughts are too deep for little ol' me." When she cocked her head, there was a glint in her eyes that was almost hopeful. "Duke and I are going into town later. You need anything?"

_Yes. _

His eyes tracked a droplet down the surprisingly delicate line of her jaw; his hand jerked before he stilled it at his side.

_Yes, always._

Snake-Eyes shook his head, and wondered at the quiet edge that turned her smile, the terrible slowness with which that odd, bright hope faded. "No," she murmured, looking up at him. The gold in her eyes was just the barest thin frame around emeralds. "I guess... you never do."

It was their routine. Their dialogue, the lines edited over the years, but always the same content.

Snake-Eyes sometimes let himself think about what Scarlett would do if he ever changed the script.

He'd wondered. Oh, yes. Would she give that little soft 'ah!' of surprise? Chirp out an 'oh, my stars and stripes,' in that hint of a Georgia drawl that only came out when she was soft and relaxed and pleased? If he reached out and drew her against him, his hands lightly resting on her hips, sliding to the small of her back when she stepped closer—would she give him that smile that bordered on being a smirk, and nip out, playfully, "It's about _time_, buster?"

He didn't think she'd push him away. He… didn't know. Maybe that was the worst part of it all.

But when Snake-Eyes glanced down at this lively, lush redheaded siren, looking up at him with that chuckle in her gaze and that soft little lingering invitation around her lips, he understood with painful certainty what Professor Onihashi had said: _"Between swords and women, I can tell you this… swords hurt less._"

A sword could kill him, and death was easy. Shana "Scarlett" O' Hara could destroy him.

Sometimes—always moments like this, when _this_ _woman_ was close enough to reach out to, not just to touch—Snake-Eyes wondered if Terri had been right—if he was a coward.

Neither of them thought anything of Scarlett being in his room. She was so often there. Neither of them would hesitate to walk through fire for the other—he knew that with the same certainty that he knew his sword would be sharp when he drew it. If he died in her defense tomorrow, he knew he'd consider there to be no better end to his life, no richer purpose.

So why was it so hard? Why had it always been?

Snake Eyes watched her walk out of his room in the face of his silence, glad she couldn't see the longing written across his scarred, awful face. He was even more glad for years of hard teachings and harder discipline when, in the mess hall later that day, he saw Duke's hand sneak out and run, just lightly, along the small of her back, before whisking away.

Her shiver, her smile back at their Top, were naughty and too private; she and Duke thought—perhaps understandably—that no-one knew.

But Snake had watched her for too long to not recognize the changes in the small things she did. He'd known from the beginning. It'd always been there, her attraction to their First Sergeant—and why not? Her muscles had caught and she'd whistled just under her breath when they'd first met handsome Conrad Hauser. That had… entertained him, actually.

But then he'd realized that Duke could give her something he'd never be able to—even if he'd dared to reach out for her hand. Even if he _tried_.

The charming, good-ol'-boy First Sergeant made her laugh.

It'd started with that silly story—something about Duke tie-dyeing t-shirts with his nieces for some project or another. God, he remembered that laugh—raucous, uproarous, Scarlett slapping her knee with tears of delight running down her cheeks. He'd frozen with shock; understood exactly why his throat felt clotted off. He'd never felt sick with jealousy before.

They weren't really in a profession made for hilarity, and she, with her sparkling eyes and wry humor and deep, rich compassion, deserved _laughter_.

Wasn't that exactly why he'd nudged her in Duke's direction in the first place?

And now… now. Small touches—smaller smiles. The teasing little flirty glances and the way she trembled when Duke stood too close. Duke looked smug at her reaction to him; Scarlett just looked amused by it, as much as she was chagrined. _A lover's language,_ Snake-Eyes though, pretending he didn't know, and wishing he didn't understand.

But sometimes, when he watched her with their First Sergeant, he realized: Duke made her happy, but not… not as happy as he'd thought the man would. Sometimes, when she thought no-one was looking, Scarlett's shoulders drooped as if keeping them straight took more than she had, and he knew better than anyone just how much she had to give. In those moments, her green eyes were very far away, and oddly wistful.

But he never asked, and Scarlett never volunteered.

Sometimes, Snake-Eyes wondered if Terri had been right. If he was a coward, after all.

And sometimes, when Scarlett's eyes met his and there was still something dark and sweet and infinite in them, something that made his breath come too fast until he looked away… Snake-Eyes knew he was.

~fin~

June 12, 2009

* * *

Eeek! Aaargh! I know, I know, it was D/S as much as it was SE/S... no, this is not going to become a habit, it was for plot purposes only! -laugh- Please don't hurt me, I like a little unrequited-love angst just as much as the next fangirl...


	7. Phonetic

**Phonetic**

* * *

Clutch asks for language lessons... enough said...

* * *

"LJ, you've got to teach me _some_ Japanese, come on. Just a little bit, just enough to get by in my leave time!"

Okay, so it wasn't really _leave_, but driving Hawk around to all sorts of meetings? It was the next best thing. And in _Tokyo!_ For a whole week? And Clutch wouldn't even have to sit in on those meetings… which was a lot better than a lot of the other driving gigs he'd had.

Jaye calmly finished running her finger down the piece of fancy letterhead paper, then turned to the pad of paper beside her and scribbled something down. Which was… Clutch craned his neck over to look at it. What language _was _that, anyway? "Clutch…" she sighed, not looking up as she twirled her fancy fountain pen between her fingers.

Awww, for serious? She couldn't still be sore about that little trick he'd played with her car engine the last time she and Flint had been racing, could she? He'd had to stick to his guns about that—it'd looked bad enough when Scarlett had taken down Snake in that last motorbike race they'd had, and none of them would be able to look at themselves in the mirror the next day if the girls took it two for two! Sure, Flint was a good guy, and he wasn't that bad a driver, but he took his turns too slow, and he wouldn't let Clutch take the wheel of his precious Pontiac Firebird.

Huh. Did Flint know just how it looked when his woman sucked on the end of her pen like that, though?

"Aw, c'mon," Clutch grumbled. Nothing like a woman to stay sour about something little like that. "Look, I'll _fix_ your engine!"

This time, Jaye actually looked up, and frowned, her eyebrows coming together. "What? Wait… Clutch? What's wrong with my Alfa Romeo's engine?"

Ooookay… or maybe she _couldn't_ hear the difference when her fancy Italian engine wasn't quite putting out all the horsepower it should. Clutch grinned. Well, typical woman—why did Jaye even bother driving that pretty machine if she couldn't make it purr the way it should? Maybe she had Flint take a look at it when she needed something. "I, uh… I thought it sounded a little off when you and Flint had your race, you know? Hey, look, I'll make you a trade? I'll take a look at it, and all I need is a _couple_ of little phrases. Won't take you hardly any time…"

Their fancy-linguist counterintelligence agent chewed on the end of her pen for a long moment before she sighed. "Well… Clutch, I mean… I really am busy. Look, I have to have this done by tonight, otherwise…" she looked back down and started scribbling away at her pad of paper again. "Um, why don't you ask Snake-Eyes?"

Clutch blinked, and scratched his head. Yeah, sure, Jaye was probably pretty brilliant, but she just didn't make sense sometimes. "Uh, LJ, the man can't _talk_."

"Hm? Well, no, but he can write it very well. He has very nice handwriting." She turned over the page and started chewing on her pen again. "Very elegant _kanji._"

The problem with brilliant people was, well… it was kind of the same problem that they always had with the ninja—they always figured that _everyone_ could do what they did, and it was damned frowned. "But, Jaye, I can't _read_ Japanese."

She looked a little startled, her chin tilting up, and her eyes actually focused on him again. "Oh. Oh! Oh, right. Um… yes, sorry about that." She gave him that little flash of a smile that she was so good at—man, for smiles like that. "What about Kibbey? He has a terrible accent, but his grammar's fairly good."

Uh, she really thought he cared about the _grammar?_ "Thought about that. Breaker's off in the field," he grumbled.

"Mmm," she mused, running her fingers through that short brown hair of hers before she flipped back to the page she'd been looking at before. "Stalker? Wait… no, Stalker doesn't speak Japanese. Um… oh! Jinx?"

"Uh… no go." He didn't get _why_ the ninja girl was still so mad at him—for someone as thin as she was, she _did_ have really nice, round baby-bearing hips!

"What did you…" then Jaye grimaced. "Don't want to know. How about Tommy? His Japanese is just beautiful, and I'm sure he knows a lot more about the nuances than I do—it's such a lovely subtle language…"

Clutch scowled—but when he narrowed his eyes and looked closer… damn it, she _was _smirking at him through her lashes, wasn't she? Stupid smart people. "Awww, Jaye, now I _know_ you're trying to get me killed. Come on!"

This time, though, Lady Jaye laughed, and put down the pen, looking up at him and relaxing back into her big leather rolling-chair. "Well… let me guess, you just want a few phrases to charm the _bijin,_ huh?"

"If that means the honeys, then…" Clutch frowned, "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Fantastic guess," she said, low and sly, but her eyes rolled right up to the ceiling. But she didn't look mad about any of that, either—which was why he'd gone to _Jaye_, and not to Scarlett. "You'll really look at my engine?"

"_And_ give it an oil change and tune-up," he promised, and dropped down into the chair in front of her desk. He'd been thinking of doing it anyway… bad karma to not fix it up some, after all that'd happened, and it wasn't like she'd be racing Flint again anytime soon. "Deal?"

She reached out and took his hand, pumping it firmly. "Okay. You've got five minutes."

"Huh?" Five minutes? Geez—she was _lucky_ he knew exactly what needed to be done to get her Spider's engine revved and rolling again! "Fine—so… how do you say 'You're beautiful?'"

"_Utsukushii,"_ she replied, slowly. "_U-tsu-ku-shii_, the 'ii' at the end is long. Or _kirei da na._ But I'd stay away from that, it could also mean that you're telling her she's clean."

He blinked. "_Utsukushii?_" he pulled out the 'ii,' the way she had."That's it?"

"Yes, that's it. Not bad." She smiled her slow, amused smile, leaning her cheek on her hand. "Well, strictly speaking, that just means 'beautiful,' but… it's grammatical just as it is, and you don't want to mess with all the different ways that the Japanese say 'you.' You can say '_kawaii_,' too, for variety, but… well, the typical American tongue has problems making the phonemes in it work, and—"

Clutch grimaced, and waved a hand to stop her. Yeah… she really _did_ think he cared about the grammar. "Uh… yeah, okay? What about 'get her another drink?'"

Jaye paused, then chuckled, shaking her head hard enough that her curls bobbed. "Okay, that's a good one, I guess. Um, you catch the bartender's eye, point at her glass and say, '_Mou ippai kudasai_.'"

"How do you ask for someone's phone number?" Before she opened her mouth, he raised his hand. "Uh, the _real _simple way, LJ."

This time, she did laugh. "Okay, okay. _Denwa bango wa?_ But how are you planning to… well…" she shook her head. "Right. Not my problem."

Clutch had to grin. Yeah, okay, Jaye was smart, and she was _smart, _too. "Just one more thing. How do you say 'Can you help me find my hotel?'"

"Clutch…" Jaye sighed—but then she looked up at him and frowned, cocking her head, her pen making little scribbles in the margins of her notepad. "I did shake on it, didn't I? Okay. That's kind of a longer phrase—are you going to be able to remember all that? It's _omae-tte hontou ni buta no you ni bussai da._"

Geez. How was it that those people could make 'you're beautiful' into just one simple little word, but asking for a little thing like a hotel sounded like a whole damned wedding proposal? Clutch got as far as the '_omae-tte_' with the weird pause in it before he found himself scratching the back of his neck. "Uh, can you write that down?"

LJ sighed—but she did. Then she wrote down all the other things she'd taught him.

Then she actually sat him down and made him repeat everything that she'd taught him until he actually _kind of_ sounded like her when he said the phrases—as long as he said them slowly enough. Which kind of made a lot of sense—yeah, Jaye took a _lot_ of pride in everything that she did, so she wouldn't send him out into the big bad world with bad pronunciation, not if she was the one doing the teaching.

It took a whole lot longer than five minutes—hey, he'd never said he was _good_ with all this mumbo-jumbo—but Clutch figured it probably wasn't a good idea to remind her of that.

"Jaye, you're a real sport, you know that?" he grinned at her, and reached across the table to chuck her under the chin. Another thing Scarlett would never, ever have let him do, but Jaye was a real little lady, wasn't she? Hell, he'd fix and tune up her engine _tonight_, before he got sent out! "A real smart cookie."

Jaye just smiled, and answered him with a real cheerful, "Yes, I know. Just… remember, they drive on the _other_ side of the road."

"Hey! I don't tell _you_ how to do your job, woman!" he complained—but he was still smiling when he left her office. Yeah, okay, LJ was a know-it-all and a braniac, but she was steady, all right. Maybe someday he _would_ tell her about how to deal with her engine—hey, she had a pretty good sense of humor.

Then, not two nights later, he had a very fine little Japanese honey looking at him, open-mouthed—before she yowled something that sounded like a cross between a mating cat and Shipwreck's damned parrot, and her hand came swinging for his face.

She didn't hit him hard, not with those little arms, but… "What the Hell?" He was still staring after that butt in a tiny leather mini-skirt when she bobbled off in those high, high heels.

The bartender just looked at him, and shook his head. "How else you think woman do when you say she ugly like… like… pig?"

Clutch had an entire evening to think a few things:

First: yeah, this was looking like maybe LJ _did_ know about him fiddling with her engine and maybe _kind_ of contributing to her losing the race against her man.

Second: yeah, okay, so she was a smarty-pants and she'd gotten him good, but crap, how'd he manage to forget that she was the best actress on the team?

And third… Hell, maybe he _would_ have been better off asking one of the damned ninja.

~fin~

August 1, 2009

'bijin' = 'beautiful woman/lady' (it sounds like an endearment, but it's not really, it's just a plain ol' descriptive term.)

'utsukushii' = beautiful.

'kawaii' = 'cute/sweet' (sometimes used interchangeably with 'beautiful'.)

'denwa bango wa' = literally, '(your) phone number is?'

'buta no you ni bussai da' = '(you are) as totally hideous as a pig.'


End file.
